Radioactive
by lonely jester
Summary: You know what sucks? Having superpowers and being recruited to save everyone's sorry asses. You know what doesn't suck? Getting to work with a pretty redhead with blue eyes and the ability to blow you sky-high. (And no, that is not a sexual innuendo, that is the God-given truth). An AU superhero caper with Beca and Co.


_Superhero AU. I know it's been done before, but I felt like writing it anyway. This is my first time posting for Pitch Perfect, so I hope I haven't messed up the characterizations too badly. **This is a Beca/Chloe story just so you know!**_

* * *

To Beca, there are two types of people in the world. There's the standard type who comes with the basic human package of ten fingers, ten toes, something dangling or a lack thereof between the legs, and one of many annoying and hypocritical and just plain dislikable personalities. Then there's the unusual type, who's the exact same as the standard types but with the additional habit of dressing up in flashy costumes and prancing around in public. And also has, you know, the whole superpower thing.

Honestly, both types suck. People are people, and she's no people person. She's ambivalent to all the superhumans who use their powers in public—capes, as they're called. Like most non-capes—the civilians, as it were—she thinks the capes can be handy when they're actually helping out and a nuisance when they're not. Of course among the non-capes, there are some who are diametrically opposed to what the capes do, regardless of whether they identify as hero or villain or something in between. And then there are those who think the sun shines out of their asses.

Beca's father, Dr. Robert Mitchell, is one of the latter.

And that's kind of where the story really starts, because if Rob Mitchell hadn't been so fascinated (obsessed) with the superpower genome and what it meant for the future of the human race, he wouldn't have neglected his family to become America's leading expert in superhuman biology with both a PhD in genetics and a very bitter ex-wife and daughter.

Beca didn't _hate_ her father—at least, not deep down inside herself, she didn't. She did resent the hell out of him, though, and _that_ she didn't mind showing. Which led her to where she was standing now, hiding in her father's study to avoid any pseudo-familial interaction with her stepmother. She would've holed up in the room that was given to her in her dad's house if she could, but he removed the lock on the door after several incidences that occurred when she'd been younger (they'd mainly consisted of her locking herself in her room and refusing to come out for several days. The gnawing hunger she could ignore, but waiting until the dead of night to use the bathroom had been a struggle. In the end, her silent rebellion had been for naught, the door physically broken down and Beca firmly reprimanded. Still, Rob had seriously underestimated younger Beca's stubbornness, a mistake he wouldn't forget.)

A loud knock on the door could be heard through Beca's headphones, stirring her out of her music and brooding thoughts. There was something about wanting to be left alone that made other people want to be as bothersome and intrusive as possible.

"Beca, unlock the door. You know your dad hates anyone going into his work space," an exasperated voice said on the other side. Ah, the stepmonster.

"Yeah, I know," Beca replied. She made no motion to move.

After a long pause, a disgruntled huff sounded. "Fine, but your father won't be very happy when he gets back from work and sees you in there."

Beca smirked at the ineffectual threat as the sound of receding footsteps signaled her stepmother's retreat. The smirk slipped off her face when a low battery warning popped up on her laptop. "Shoot," she muttered. She'd left her charger in her room—rookie mistake. Leaving Rob's study would look like a concession in her stepmother's eyes.

Beca stood up and looked around the room. Her dad's office-slash-home laboratory was huge and he always liked having the latest technology; there was a good chance that a laptop charger was laying around somewhere. His desk and surrounding drawers yielded nothing, leading her to cross over to his lab bench to continue her search. Numerous clear boxes containing various spiders, obviously part of her father's research, took up most of the space on the bench. Beca leaned forward to inspect them in repulsed fascination, failing to notice that one of the boxes was empty.

She opened one of the bench drawers and absentmindedly rummaged around for a charger, keeping her eyes on the spiders in case they suddenly started breaking out or growing freakishly large or something. There were enough of them to make like, an ocean of spiders, and she knew her dad was sometimes involved in some shady shit, so she felt justified in being nervous.

"Ow!" Beca jerked her hand out of the drawer when a sharp pain flared up. She raised her eyebrows at the inflamed bump on the side of her hand and touched it gingerly. She caught movement out of the corner of her eye and looked down to see a small spider drop to the floor and scurry away.

"Yeah, you'd better run, fuzzy little bitch," Beca growled. What an asshole. She hoped it had a miserable spider life.

The pain was immediately forgotten when she spotted a charger in the drawer. Taking it out, she settled back at her laptop and put on her headphones to resume working on the track she'd been mixing.

It wasn't until a couple hours in or so that Beca started to feel weird. Not weird as in Mommy-why-do-the-other-kids-make-fun-of-me weird (that kind of weird Beca had already gotten used to years ago), but it was more like the my-body-is-tingling-all-over-I-thought-this-shit-e nded-at-puberty kind of weird. She was starting to sweat profusely and the room was starting to spin and if she hadn't been freaked out by the spider bite before, she was making up for it now because it was throbbing so hard it felt like her whole damn hand was going to fall off.

Beca staggered to her feet, cursing when she stumbled against the desk and sent a lamp and various papers crashing to the floor. She had a desperate need for fresh air and somehow made it to the window without passing out.

"Beca? What was that?" Her stepmother's voice came from the other side of the door.

"Nothing!" Beca called back shakily, leaning her forehead against cool glass. She squinted her eyes at a fly buzzing around the window screen. It _looked_ like a normal housefly, but it sounded like a fighter jet. A whole squadron of fighter jets just roaring in her ears, no big deal.

"What was that crash I heard?"

"It's nothing, just that time of month!" What? That didn't even make sense.

"Beca, are you okay?"

"Just peachy!" She needed space, more air. Beca yanked the window open and pushed out the screen. It wasn't enough. "I'm going out!"

"What do you mean you're going out? Beca, open this door right now—"

Without any thought, Beca ducked through the window and jumped. Her brain caught up to her just as her feet left the ledge and _WHAT THE SHIT_, did she just jump out of a window on the third floor?

Yep, she did. Oh God, this was going to hurt like a bitch. Beca instinctively screwed her eyes shut as the ground rushed up to meet her and she braced herself for shattered ankles, a broken back, her life cut down before her prime—

—And landed gracefully in a crouch.

Beca straightened up and looked around in shock. Did that just happen? There was no one around to have witnessed it, so maybe it was like that question about the tree falling and whether or not it made a sound if there was no one around to hear it. Except that was a dumb analogy because of course the tree would make a sound if it fell and hell yeah she just jumped out of a third floor window without any crippling injuries. Conclusion? "What the fuck," she summarized, shaking her head and heading in no particular direction.

The busier streets ended up being unbearable to be near, all the noises and smells giving her a massive headache. Instead, she ended up wandering to a nearby park that was mostly devoid of people, the oncoming dusk having sent most of them home. She sat on one of the swings, aimlessly letting herself drift gently back and forth, and eyed the bite on her hand. It was almost completely gone.

Everything had to do with this damn spider bite—she just turned into one of her dad's fucking science experiments. Beca had never done anything remotely athletic in her life, and yet she felt like she could run a marathon. Two marathons. Hell, get her a human-sized hamster wheel and she'd keep running for the rest of her life—

She heard their footsteps first before their heartbeats, four distinctive rhythmic thumpings that grew louder with each passing second. Beca looked up to see a group of teenagers, three boys and a girl, approaching her. If she had to guess, the smirks on their faces probably meant they weren't looking to make friends.

Beca stood up as they positioned themselves in a circle around her, forestalling any chance of her walking away. "That's a nice pair of headphones you've got there," the tallest guy said as he crossed his arms, easily dwarfing her admittedly small stature.

Beca glanced down. She hadn't even realized they were still around her neck. "Yeah, I guess."

"I've always wanted a pair of Beats."

"Yeah, I don't recommend them, they're kind of overrated. You're really just paying for the name." She tensed when the scowl on his face deepened.

"She's a smart aleck. That's just precious, isn't it?" He snarled.

"Kick her ass, Luke," one of the guys called out.

Beca held up her hands. "Whoa, dude, no. Not necessary. Here, just take it and leave me alone." She took the headphones from around her neck and held it out.

"There's a good girl—" His smug look turned furious when Beca didn't let go of the headphones. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

On her part, Beca was trying her damnedest to let go, but the headphones remained stubbornly stuck to her skin. "No, see, I'm _trying_ to let go but it's not working—"

The punch that was thrown at her seemed to come at her in slow motion. She swore that she could almost see the dust particles that swirled up and rearranged around his fist as it moved through the air toward her face. Beca sidestepped the hit with bemused ease. She wanted to laugh when Luke's brow contorted comically, but at his next punch she automatically retaliated with one of her own, sending him flying back into the swings.

Then all hell broke loose.

The second guy grabbed her from behind, crushing her in a bear hug. Beca instinctively tried to shake him off and ended up flinging him over her shoulder harder than she'd expected. He skidded to a stop across the playground and they gaped at each other, both surprised by how far she had thrown him.

Beca felt a spike of alarm and whirled around, dropping the headphones (fucking _finally_) to block a punch that the girl threw, catching the girl's wrist before it impacted with her nose. Beca groaned when her hand stuck to the other girl. "Oh, come on!"

"Let me go!" The girl shrieked.

"Bitch, I'm _trying_!" Beca snapped. Sensing movement behind her, she moved her head left to avoid the punch aimed at the back of her head before spinning around to throw the girl directly into Luke, managing to pry her hand loose just in time.

The third guy rushed at her, just a full out football-style blitz. Beca easily flipped over him and caught the top of the swing set, hoisting herself up to balance effortlessly on top of the thin metal structure, out of reach of her would-be assailants. Just trying her best to channel her inner Russian gymnast, no big deal.

"FREEZE!" A deep voice shouted.

The next thing Beca knew, her hands were covered in blocks of ice, causing her to lose her grip and fall off the swing set. She let out a pained groan when her back hit the ground hard. She looked over to see Luke and his friends incapacitated in the same way.

A police officer stepped into her field of vision, smiling cheerily at her as the ice encasing his hand melted away into thin air. Obviously a cape.

"I bet you get a kick out of the whole yelling out 'freeze' and literally meaning it thing," Beca coughed out, still winded.

The officer's grin broadened. "I relish in it. Makes my day, especially if I have to break up punk fights like this."

"They started it. They were trying to beat me up," Beca complained as she was hauled to her feet, hands handcuffed behind her back before being read her Miranda Rights.

"Yeah, well, it sure looked like the other way around from where I was standing," the officer replied. He waved a hand to melt away the ice encasing her hands and led her into the backseat of the patrol car.

Beca rolled her eyes when Luke was shoved in next to her. "Can someone switch spots with me? I don't want to sit next to him."

"Get used to it, because we're taking you fine, upstanding young ladies and gentlemen down to the station," the other police officer in the passenger seat said sarcastically.

"And what's your superpower? Sarcasm?" Beca asked him.

"Kid, you can have a bad night, or you can have an even worse one. It's your call."

"No, it's not. Nothing ever is," Beca grumbled as she sat back with a huff. She frowned when her nose began to itch. She tried scratching it against her shoulder, but only succeeded in making herself itchier.

"Would you stop that?" Luke snapped as her elbow dug into his side.

"My face is itchy. I think I'm allergic to you." Beca unthinkingly tried to raise her hand to alleviate the itch. She heard something snap and brought out her hands from behind her back, eyes widening when she saw the chain linking both cuffs together had been cleanly severed.

The non-cape cop immediately noticed and turned around in alarm. "Hey! You a cape?"

"No," Beca immediately denied guiltily.

"You _broke_ those handcuffs. You'd better be registered in the system, kid!"

"I'm not a cape!"

"You could've told us you were a cape before we tried to mug you," Luke muttered.

"What, are you people deaf? One, I'm not a cape. Two, you're right, how much of a douchebag am I? I suck. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me," Beca bit out.

"No fighting. You can do that while waiting in the holding cell," the non-cape officer warned gruffly.

Beca turned her head when she heard sniffling. "Dude, are you _crying?" _

"No. Shut up." Luke turned his head away. "I can't go back to jail."

"And to think I almost let you mug me. What kind of idiot are you?"

"You were supposed to be an easy target!"

"Both of you shut up! That's two hours in the holding cell now!" Non-cape Cop shouted.

"You serious? What a freaking joke," Beca complained.

"Do I need to make it three?" He threatened.

Beca wisely shut her mouth and sat back. It was going to be a long night.

_-000-000-_

It was past midnight when Beca was finally released from the station, no charges filed against her after it'd been determined that she acted in self-defense. Extreme self-defense, but self-defense nonetheless. It had been harder to convince the cops that she wasn't a cape who hadn't registered in the U.S. Superhuman Registry, which required every person to proclaim their superhuman status. It wasn't a huge invasion of privacy, just another blurb of information on your driver's license. Sex? Yes, please. (No, just kidding, female). Height? 5-02. Eye color? Blue. Superpowers? None.

Still, failure to disclose any extant superpower would result in serious legal consequences. At least, that was what Beca gleaned from all the threats and blustering thrown her way by rude and irrationally angry cops. Luckily for her, she had been arrested before for breaking a window (complete accident, by the way, and was that actually lucky?) and her record had her down as a non-cape. So her headphones and phone had been returned to her and now she was on her merry little way to be killed by her dad. Her phone showed fifteen missed calls, all from him. Beca stowed it away in her pocket; out of sight, out of mind.

She decided to sneak in through the back door, too tired to have any sort of confrontation with Rob. She'd hoped going through the back door would be stealthier, but Beca hadn't counted on it being locked. Which she realized only after she twisted the knob hard enough to break the lock and cause the whole thing to fall apart.

"_Motherfucker_." Beca stared at the doorknob that had detached in her hand before shrugging. Hey, that was one way to unlock a door. She just hoped she could reach her room without getting caught—

"Rebecca Mitchell, where have you been?" An angry voice proclaimed.

—Or not, that was cool, too. She turned to see her father fuming in the doorway. "Hey Dad, what's up?"

"Do you realize what time it is?"

She checked her watch. "It's 12:37 and thirty two seconds exactly."

"Why didn't you answer any of my calls? You scared your stepmother half to death when she unlocked my study and found you weren't there! Where you weren't supposed to be in the first place, might I add. You left a huge mess and one of my research subjects is missing—"

"I'm tired, Dad. Lecture me tomorrow, okay? Or better yet, never," Beca interrupted. "Some jerkoffs tried to mug me and I had to give a statement at the police station, hence the late-night entrance."

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Rob asked, capitulating surprisingly easily.

"Never felt better in my life," Beca said honestly. She held out the doorknob. "The lock on the back door's broken. I guess it was old."

"Really? I had it replaced just last month." He reached for it, frowning when Beca didn't let go. "Uh, Beca…"

"Yeah, it's just, uh, that I love doorknobs so much. Give me a second." Beca pried her hand away, pleased by the fact that she seemed to have a little more control over the attachment issues her hands seemed to be having. "Okay, well, good talk Dad. Good night!"

"Good night," Rob echoed, narrowing his eyes at the knob in his hand before staring at Beca's retreating back.

Beca collapsed on her bed face-first, too tired to even change into pajamas. After some second thoughts, she dragged herself up and forced herself to change. After her brief stint in jail, her clothes reeked of urine and poor life choices. No one ever told her having superpowers would lead to this…Beca decided before drifting off that one, being a cape was highly overrated, and two, she never wanted to go to jail again.

* * *

Beca woke up to an excruciating pain in her abdomen and sat up in a panic. She lifted her shirt to inspect her stomach—ooh, nice, she got abs now—and winced when the pain returned. Seriously, if she was growing eight extra appendages like an actual spider then she might as well kill herself now—

Her stomach grumbled in response. Oh. False alarm, she was only starving half to death, no need for panic. Beca slipped out of bed and padded downstairs to the kitchen. Cereal sounded good—but so did toast, and eggs, and banana pancakes, and fucking hallelujah was that _bacon_?

She'd just started eating when Rob walked into the kitchen. Beca nearly choked mid-chew. "Dad! Shouldn't you be at work?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes," he answered vaguely as he took in the spread of food strewn about on the table. "That's a lot of food."

Beca narrowed her eyes at his knowing tone before taking a defiant bite of her food. "Yeah, I'm hungry. That isn't a crime, is it?"

Rob held up his hands. "I'm just making an observation. Can I join you?"

"It's your house," Beca shrugged.

He frowned at that. "It's your house, too, Beca," he insisted. "Even if you live with your mother for most of the time, you have a place here, too."

"Yeah, whatever." She continued eating in silence until she couldn't take it anymore, unnerved by the way her dad kept glancing at her. "Can you stop staring? It's freaking me out."

"Sorry, I'm just a bit out of it. You want more coffee?" He refilled her cup before casually holding it over the floor and dropping it.

Beca's hand shot out and caught it by the handle before it shattered on the floor. "Why, Dad, just why?"

"Not a drop spilled. I'm impressed." Rob shoved his mug off the table, smiling when Beca caught that one, too.

"Dad! Have you gone crazy?" She demanded as she stood up to take the mugs far, far away from her father, determined to save the ceramics from the serial cup-smasher.

"So when were you going to tell me about your powers, Beca?" He called out as she took the cups to the sink.

Beca froze. "I don't know what you talking about—"

"Please, don't insult my intelligence." He gestured at her chair. "Sit."

Beca wavered before complying with a sigh. "How'd you know?"

"Beca, I study superhumans for a living—did you really think you could hide it from me?"

"Well, I was kind of hoping I could."

"I went to talk to the police this morning. They said you beat up four kids without a single scratch on you."

"Now _that_ is an exaggeration. I only punched Luke, like, once—"

"You're eating enough food to sustain three grown men and your reflexes are definitely above average—all classic features of a superhuman constitution. The question is, when were going to tell me?"

"Like, you know, never."

"Beca!"

"Dad!" She mimicked sarcastically. "I wasn't going to tell you because you're making it a bigger deal than it actually is—"

"It _is_ a big deal! This is monumental, Beca! Yesterday you were just an average human girl—"

"Gee, thanks—"

"And then you just came upon these abilities that, for all intents and purposes, sprang out of nowhere!"

"'Came upon them?' It's not like I found a quarter and put it in my pocket," Beca said.

"No, this is more than that. This is the genetic equivalent of a homeless person finding England's crown jewels just lying in the street and putting them in his pocket!"

"That sounds vaguely offensive to homeless people."

"Every superhuman has always been born with their powers, or they've obtained them through extremely classified government experimentation that frankly has been successful only once. Beca, how did this _happen_?"

"Well, I was walking with this homeless guy and he tripped over a pile of diamonds—"

"Beca." Rob looked at her sternly.

She sighed. "I don't know, Dad. I was in your office, a spider bit me, and now I'm Cirque du Soleil-ing all over the place."

"A spider bite? Amazing. I never considered the possibility of physical interspecies transmission—it was always about the isolation of genes and splicing them together with human DNA—"

"Yeah, no, science isn't really my thing," Beca interrupted.

"This is monumental," Rob repeated to himself. He looked up at her. "Beca, I think we should discuss where your life is going now that you've graduated high school."

"I already told you I don't want to go to college."

"Right, the whole singer in Los Angeles thing."

"D.J.," Beca corrected.

"And I totally respect your choices—but now that you have these new abilities, I think you should reconsider higher education. More specifically, there are programs established for young superhumans like yourself—"

"I'm not interested."

"The program I'm affiliated with is classified as Project Barden. Just take a look at it. Please." He slid a thick file folder with a bold red 'CLASSIFIED' stamped across its front.

Beca was ready to shoot him down, show no mercy, but the look on his face stopped her. For the first time in her life he wasn't just casually glancing over her—he was actually looking _at_ her, and not just through where she was standing. "Okay." The word slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it.

Rob beamed. "That's great, Beca! I'm really glad to hear that. I'll just leave you to it, then, but we'll talk about this later! Anyway, I have to go, I'm late for work." He grabbed his jacket and walked out the door, no doubt eager to further research the experiment that his daughter had now become. Beca was left alone at the table, staring at the thick folder that contained her future.

She avoided reading it all day, instead mixing a bunch of new tracks that turned out only semi-decent and indulging in a tense dinner with the stepmonster. It was only when she had nothing else left to do that she ended up in her room, still staring at the folder. The bold red 'CLASSIFIED' taunted her, telling her she was finally special enough to be included in her father's world…and yet she still couldn't bring herself to open it.

"This is ridiculous," Beca suddenly decided. She'd promised to take a look, not sign away her soul. She opened the folder and began scanning the documents.

Project Barden: a four-year training program designed to help superhumans gain greater control over their powers and learn their limits. A curriculum of firearm exercises, operational skills, physical training, and leadership skills taught in conjunction with college-level academic courses. Learn how to kill a man and get your bachelor's degree in the process, welcome to America.

The longer Beca read on, the more she hated the idea. Project Barden seemed to require a lot of interpersonal skills—it even stated a good agent knew how to communicate, cooperate, and trust. Too bad those were her three least favorite things to do. Not to mention she'd have to spend all her time around the superhumans who actually _liked_ dressing up to beat the crap out of criminals. It took a special kind of mindset to enjoy that particular activity, and she meant special in a not-so-good way.

An enthusiastic knock on her door caught her attention. Rob stood in the doorway with a hopeful look. "So? What do you think?"

"I'll pass." Beca flipped the folder shut and pushed it away.

Rob sighed. "I have to say I'm very disappointed with your decision, Beca."

"What? You didn't have to say that, no one put a gun to your head."

"Well, maybe these will change your mind." He handed her a pair of strange metal wrist guards.

"What are they?" She accepted them dubiously.

"They're something I've been tinkering with in the lab. Here, they go around your wrists like this—" he fastened the metal bands around her wrists and pointed at the lever elevated slightly above the base of each palm. "Those are the triggers. They're sensitive, so you'll really need to practice to get a hang of it—"

"Triggers for what?" Beca impulsively pressed down her ring and middle fingers on the lever and flinched when a jet of white string shot out of the machine on her wrist and impacted hard against the opposite wall. "What the high holy hell is that?!"

"It's a synthetic polymer adhesive I invented. The canisters on your wrists contain the adhesive in fluid form that will dry immediately upon contact with air, creating what you just saw. It's designed to mimic the properties of a spider's web on a human scale—more specifically, it can attach to nearly any surface found on Earth, has a tensile strength of about a hundred and twenty pounds per square millimeter, and is flexible enough to bend in any direction multiple times without breaking."

"So you gave me the ability to spin webs, great. Should I put one in the garden to help Mom out with the wasp problem she's been having? Or maybe I'll move to a farm and reenact Charlotte's Web, save all the little piggies and singlehandedly bring down the bacon industry!"

Rob frowned. "Don't be flippant, that webbing might save your life one day. At least test it out before you try to get yourself killed, okay?"

"No, you want me to use these so I can be useful to whatever government agency you work for, Dad. But I don't want to do that, okay? I just want to go to L.A. and lead a completely superhuman-free life!"

"Jeez, Beca, what kind of father do you think I am? I'm not going to force you to lead a life you don't want. I'm just trying to keep you safe, and I sincerely think Project Barden will help you in that regard. There are bad people out there who will be very interested in what you can do for them, Beca."

"Yeah, okay, I'll be sure to keep an eye for the boogieman, too. And what makes you so sure you're not the bad guys?"

"Honey, Project Barden is only a training program. Yes, my agency and others recruit a lot of trainees from Project Barden, but it's not some kind of blood in, blood out type of deal—most candidates come into the program already intending on working for Washington anyway. Unless you sign a job contract, you can leave whenever you want." He sighed. "Listen, I'll make you a deal. If you train in the program for one year—and I mean really train—and it still doesn't appeal to you, I'll support you in your music endeavors one hundred percent. I'll pay for the plane ticket, the rent, the food, everything, until you're successful."

"Seriously?" Beca asked in disbelief.

"Seriously," he confirmed.

She cocked her head. "Or I could just use my powers to make enough money to get to L.A. Kinda like, superhero-prostitute myself out—work as hired muscle for somebody or beat up bad guys for money, you know."

"Beca, this isn't about using your powers to catch criminals; it's about learning how to use them properly so you can defend yourself and others. I just want you to be safe, that's all."

Beca mulled it over. "One year and that's it? You swear you'll pay for everything?"

"Yes, I swear. But I draw the line at buying you drugs or strippers, and you have to promise you'll try your best in this program."

"Deal," Beca agreed. "When do I start?"

"New trainees move into the barracks next week. The program normally doesn't accept students this late, but I managed to get an exemption for you."

"I am truly the luckiest girl in the world."

Rob rolled his eyes. "And you're going to have to work on that attitude. The government doesn't take to sarcastic teenage girls very well."

Beca raised a fist. "Gotta stick it to the man, Dad."

There was strained silence as they looked anywhere but at each other, both left with nothing to say. Awkwardness was clearly a genetic trait. "Okay, well, good night, sleep tight. Don't let the bed bugs bite," Rob blurted out.

"I won't. I'll just watch out for the radioactive ones," Beca joked weakly. He smiled back awkwardly before spinning around and leaving, leaving Beca to fall back on her bed with a sigh of relief. Conversations with her dad were akin to pulling teeth, except worse because at least the dentist had the decency to shoot her up with anesthetics.

Still, this was probably the first time in a long time that she and her dad had come to an agreement. His entire life focused around capes, and now she was one. Beca looked at the mechanical shooters on her wrists, a crazy idea slowly forming in her head—since her powers didn't look like they were going away anytime soon, she might as well test them out, right?

Ten minutes later, dressed completely in black and wearing a ski mask to hide her face, Beca leaped out of her window and into the night.

_-000-000-_

So it turned out getting used to this superpower stuff? A lot easier than she'd expected.

Climbing up walls turned out to be pretty easy because fuck you, gravity; she could scale up the side of an apartment building in a minute flat. The getting around part had been trickier, but after several initial heart-stopping near-falls, she soon found herself swinging from building to building like a pro, the Tarzan of this concrete jungle. Beca couldn't help letting out a whoop as she pulled out of a particularly steep dive, cold air streaming past her face and adrenaline coursing through her system.

She landed easily on the ledge of a roof and sat down to take a break. Gazing at the bright city lights in the distance, Beca glanced at the stone gargoyle next to her. "That was fucking amazing," she admitted confidentially. It didn't answer. Not that she expected it to.

Beca paused when her acute hearing picked up angry shouting down the street. She stood up and flicked her wrist, firing a web to the elevated subway platform in middle of the street and using it to swing across to the other side. Beca landed silently on the iron framework of the overpass and peered down to observe the happenings below.

Inside a brightly lit 7-Eleven, a man in a ski mask was holding a cashier at gunpoint as she tearfully stuffed a backpack with money. Beca hesitated at the idea of getting involved, but the street was almost empty and the few characters skulking around seemed indifferent to the robbery occurring before their eyes.

The thief snatched the bag out of the cashier's hand when she held it out and tore out of the store, gun still waving wildly in the air. Beca made up her mind. She tried to gauge the speed at which he was moving and the height she was at and force times distance equals velocity (okay, she was just bullshitting herself, she nearly failed physics in school). Ah, to hell with it. She fired a web to anchor herself and swung down feet-first into his side.

He collided into the side of the building with a nasty thwack. With a pained groan, he stumbled upright and pointed the gun at Beca.

"Dude, not cool," Beca said, reacting instinctively. A shot of web glued his right hand to the brick wall, easily disarming him, before she secured his left hand in the same way when he tried to pull off the sticky substance. Beca stepped forward to pull off his mask, blinking when it revealed a normal looking guy.

She didn't know what she'd expected. Some scars maybe, or at least an ugly face to befit the look of an armed robber—not some kid who looked like a college frat boy.

"What the hell is this stuff? Who are you?" He whined.

"That's spider webbing. Yeah, I know," she added when he made a face. She reached into his pocket to take out his wallet. "It's not like I made it inside my body or anything, though. And I'm the girl stopping you from stealing—_Tom_," she said accusingly, looking at his driver's license. "What idiot brings their ID to rob a store?"

"I hate to interrupt, but I really have to insist that you return that money and turn yourselves in," someone said behind them.

Beca whirled around to see…nothing.

"Up here," the voice added helpfully.

Beca looked up. A woman in a skintight black and yellow suit was floating in the air with her arms crossed, copper red tresses swept behind her stylized domino mask. A soft glow emanated faintly from her, slowly fading to nothingness as she touched down to face Beca.

Another superhuman. Beca shifted unsurely—what was the code of conduct for interacting with other capes? 'Hey pal, good job fighting for truth, justice, and the American way. Let's go beat up some terrorists.'

Yeah, socializing, be it with capes or civilians, wasn't her scene. Beca decided to leave before things got awkward and slowly backed away. "Hey, he's all yours—you kids have fun now."

"What?" The woman tilted her head in confusion. "Stop or I'll have to use force!" She stepped forward and raised her hand as it began to glow ominously.

Beca's eyes widened. "Whoa, wait, I'm on your side! I stopped him from getting away!"

"…Right. You really expect me to believe that from someone wearing a ski mask? You guys are even dressed alike."

Beca and Tom looked at each other. Beca shook her head. "You got it all wrong—I'm not with him!"

"She's lying," Tom called out. Fucking instigator.

"Shut up, Tom!" Beca fired a web at his crotch and smirked at his high-pitched yelp.

The masked woman laughed before trying to disguise it as a cough. "I don't know, you're even on a first-name basis with him…"

Beca threw up her hands. "That's because he's an especially stupid kind of robber who carries around his ID. Look, I was just trying to do a good deed, but if this is the kind of grief I get for it then I'd rather stick to being a bystander."

"Well, obviously you're either new to the game or you're the worst robber in the world." Bright blue eyes scrunched up in silent amusement behind the mask. "You do know vigilantism is frowned upon, right?"

"I'm not a vigilante, I just happened to be around! Besides, isn't that what you're doing?"

"I'm part of a law enforcement agency—as most superhumans are."

"Which one?" Beca challenged.

"Sorry, that's classified."

"Of course it is," Beca muttered.

The other girl smirked and let her eyes travel over Beca's form. "You're kind of small for a cape."

"Yeah, well, size doesn't matter."

"Is that a promise?" She winked and held out a (thankfully non-glowy) hand. "I'm Solaris."

"That's the name your parents gave you? You must've had an awful childhood. How much money did you have to spend on therapy?" Beca remarked, looking at her outstretched hand suspiciously.

"Tons," the superhero smiled, unperturbed by her sarcasm. "It's the pseudonym I use to protect my identity. Works better than a ski mask."

"Sure, whatever you say." Beca finally took her hand to shake but forgot to be careful of the trigger on her own palm, resulting in a spray of web covering the other girl's hand and gluing their hands together. "Shit, sorry about that! It's really sensitive, the slightest touch can set it off—" Beca cut herself off when she realized what that sounded like and scowled at the wide smirk on the other girl's face.

Solaris nodded with mock solemnity. "Performance anxiety, I understand. It happens around me all the time. Premature release isn't uncommon—"

"_Okay_, we are done talking for today," Beca announced, finally managing to rip her hand out of the other girl's grasp.

"Does that mean we can talk tomorrow?"

"Uh, no?"

"I think you should," Tom encouraged.

Beca shot a web in his direction without even bothering to look, sealing his mouth shut with unerring aim. She rolled her eyes when the other girl beamed at her but was unable to help smiling back.

The slight grin slipped off Beca's face at the sound of approaching sirens. "Uh oh."

"Something wrong?" Solaris questioned.

"I don't want to be arrested again," slipped out before Beca could stop herself. Damn it, she sounded like Luke.

"_Again?_"

"It's a long story," Beca dismissed. "My general relationship with the police is that misunderstandings arise, complications ensue, and I get thrown in jail."

"I'm telling you, it's the ski mask. It carries all sorts of negative connotations."

"I'm not taking fashion advice from somebody pairing a leotard with thigh-high boots. Like, where are your pants?" Beca said accusingly.

"Unnecessary."

"See, normal people don't say that with a straight face."

"What is normal? Merely a psychological construct reinforced by interaction with your environment," the other girl said pleasantly. "You've just been hanging out with the wrong people. You should join us."

As a police cruiser squealed around the corner, sirens wailing and red and blue lights flashing, Beca began to back away from the other girl. "Wow, that's not questionable at all. For all I know, you could be part of a cult."

"Well…" she dragged out flippantly. "I'm not."

"Yeah, that's what they all say."

"Who says that? Do you get asked to join cults a lot?"

"Do you make it a habit of recruiting people off the street for your shady club?" Beca fired back.

"Like I said, we're classified—and I only try with cute girls."

"I'd be a lot more flattered if my face wasn't covered," Beca pointed out.

Solaris laughed. "What's your name?"

"Sorry, that's classified," Beca said smugly with a wink. She fired a web at a subway train passing above and used the momentum to swing high up into the air just as the cop car pulled up to the scene. As she swung through the streets, she mentally patted herself on the back; totally nailed the badass exit.

As soon as Beca returned to her room, quietly slipping in through the window, she tore off her mask and pulled out her old sketchpad from her desk. She flipped to a fresh page and began sketching a design. The uniform material had to be flexible so she could move freely and colorful enough so she was recognizable as a cape. She also liked having her full face covered by the ski mask, no matter what _Solaris_ had said. Beca briefly wondered if the other girl was a natural redhead. Red, that was a good color. Or maybe blue. Or maybe she could use both?

A few hours later, when the sun began to peek over the horizon, Beca fell exhausted into her bed. Her last thought before succumbing to sleep was strangely not of her first night out using her powers or of the uniform she just finished designing, but of bright blue eyes and a brilliant smile that couldn't be hidden even by a mask.

* * *

_Sorry if it's lame. And that it's so long. A cookie for you if you catch the Kiss Kiss Bang Bang reference. If you've figured out who Solaris is (and I really hope you did) then I kind of imagined her in the movie version costume of Silk Spectre II with a mask. Feel free to imagine her in a different costume if you'd prefer, though. _

_Thanks for reading!_


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